


FRIENDS

by jarynw02



Category: Naruto
Genre: BAMF OC's, Baby Sister Fic, F/M, Female Friendship, General Girl Power, Hashirama is Everything, Kita and Misa are bad bitches, Mito is also a bad bitch, Protective big brothers, Senju Tobirama Needs a Hug, Uchiha Madara Needs a Hug, Warring Clans Era, angsty rebel baby sisters, fluffy big brothers, like that's the whole point, who give their big brothers heart attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27253624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarynw02/pseuds/jarynw02
Summary: Senju Kitama and Uchiha Misaki follow their eldest brothers to the river, only to get lost and find each other. After years of friendship and war, Kita steps in against her own clan to save Misa from a fatal blow - to the shock of their clans.They flee, disappearing for years before deciding it's time to come home.But if their big brothers want them back alive, the price is peace.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Tobirama/Original Female Character(s), Uchiha Madara & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	FRIENDS

**Author's Note:**

> I love big brother tropes, what can I say. 
> 
> Part three of me shit posting all my Naruto WIPs I've hidden from the world. WHOOPS.

Tobirama marches through the compound, boots squishing in the residual mud from yesterday’s rain that he’s more than acquainted with after two days of travel from the civilian post on the eastern side of the Nara clan’s settlement. The gate guards pay him no mind and he passes by them without acknowledgement despite having no personal qualm against them, and he disregards his own afterthought about paying more mind to his clansmen on the relentless urgings of his charismatic brother. Hayato and Tomino part with him after simple sounds of goodbye, both his squadmates for the retrieval mission satisfied with the amount of interaction they’ve all already had with one another and ready for a good bath and warm meal. 

Mito will have arrived in his absence, something that he may or may not have planned for, though he has no problem with arranged marriages or the Uzumaki clan specifically. More so, he’d rather miss the floundering his brother was likely to fall into headfirst-- a natural state for him, typically worsened by the redhead’s presence ever since they first met three years ago. Mito herself is a goddess among them-- lethally polished as an heiress and a ruthless shinobi. Tobirama couldn’t have asked for someone better for his brother, though he wonders what exactly she sees in him that’s turned the arrangement into a love match. 

Her chakra burns in his senses beside the bright light that is his brother’s and his path is carved out in sopping steps of thick, squicky earth that makes him frown at the unflattering sounds as he makes for his brother’s office. Touka is there too, her chakra more coiled, wound and tightly leashed like a snake deftly twined and ready to strike, though knowing his cousin that ire could be aimed at either friend or foe. 

Heel to toe, he pulls his feet free from the wet boots the moment he’s risen onto the small engawa, tucking a quick finger down his calf to step out of them completely before opening the door without a knock. Hashirama is the first to look at him, an out of place ridge between his brows that deepens the light scowl on Tobirama’s face. 

Touka whips her head over her shoulder without removing her hands from the desk where she was apparently staring down his brother. “You’re back.”

“It would seem so.” Mito is settled with tea aside from them and he nods to her, earning him one of her gentle, carefully aimed smiles. Hashirama’s holding a scroll, his own tea still steaming, likely forgotten beside him and Tobirama moves further into the room. “Any word?”

Hashirama knows what he’s asking, the same question either brother always asks after returning from any length of time away from the clan: Did we find Kitama? 

Her face haunts them both, young and torn between feral, ferocious protectiveness and a bone-searing fear that cut across the battlefield. Tobirama was closer than Hashirama. He saw his youngest sibling, his only living younger sibling, his only  _ sister _ the moment her chakra flared in alert and she leapt between Senju and Uchiha to save from a mortal blow. He saw his fourteen year old sister slay her way across the battlefield until she suddenly threw herself between a  _ Senju  _ blade to save an  _ Uchiha _ . 

The shock reverberated across the field, the sharp bite of looming winter night creeping out over them all as Senju stood against Senju for the fate of an Uchiha. Even Hashirama and Madara paused for a breath, but too many were already in full throes of war-- unstoppable for any amount of horrific surprise to cause a true ceasefire. To divert one’s attention for too long is to lose and to lose is to die, so they all fought on. But Tobirama still saw, as did their eldest brother, and when the fighting waned down into a retreat for both sides, they both noticed the lack of their sister. 

Their  _ baby sister  _ was gone.

Is gone. 

Hashirama shakes his head, fingers working the edges of the fresh parchment between them. “But Madara has agreed to another meeting. This will be our third this year,” he says, nimbly rolling the scroll enough to hand it over to Tobirama to read over with a quick glance. “This is good. We’re that much closer to a resolution.”

A nod is all he’s willing to offer his brother in answer to that, Tobirama’s own feelings of peace still a stilted, strangled mess that never quite claws its way into the forefront of his mind. He will follow his brother’s dream loyally and on sure footing merely because his brother is the one leading the way. His own beliefs toward an understanding with the Uchiha are limited and frail. 

“Tomino discovered something of interest in our civilian village during the mission.”

Touka’s fingers scrape against wood as she curls her hands into fists before withdrawing to a corner of the room, crossing her arms in the same petulant way that makes sure to let everyone in the vicinity know she’s frustrated. With years of practice, Hashirama ignores her the same way Tobirama does and replies with a raised brow, “Oh?”

Tobirama hums. “It seems the  _ nananari  _ have found their way over to this area.”

His brother’s other brow joins its twin and Touka’s arms fall to her side. She shifts her weight, flicking her eyes between the siblings. “I seriously doubt they would mess with the Senju.”

“Or the Uchiha,” Hashirama quickly adds. 

But Tobirama has his doubts. Rumors of a group of mercenary kunoichi spread two years ago, trickling back to the Senju through missions much like his own. Back then they were meaningless rumors of wanderers with a grudge dark enough to liken them to the demons of myth, but once a Yamanaka patrol was picked off last year with only one specific casualty, Tobirama started paying attention. 

Reports liken them to wraiths and survivors describe them as the beautiful death, weaving terror through genjutsu before ripping the wind straight from one’s lungs. Their targets are most often men and always with unsavory pasts that mysteriously come to light upon their deaths, trapping their spirits between this plane and the next, haunting the dead and leashing them to wandering the waiting room of the afterlife forever. 

“It’s too close to home,” Tobirama decides for them, knowing Hashirama will agree. Mito sips her tea, listening patiently with an ear that he knows always has an opinion, but will also often stow it in an effort for harmony rather than disrupting talks with her blunt mind. “We should double the size of our patrol squads.”

Hashirama works his jaw, leaning back in his seat. “Considering we don’t know how many there are, it’s probably worth it.”

Mito’s hand stills, drawing Tobirama’s attention which turns Hashirama’s as well. The only sign of regret at her actions is a vague twitch at the corner of her eye. “Ah, there’s two of them.”

A staggering, pregnant pause expands in the room before, unsurprisingly, Touka is the one to break it. 

“Uh,  _ what _ ?!” 

“How do you know that?” Tobirama asks, always the rational one of his terribly distractible companions. 

Hashirama sets his shoulders toward her, watching her fully now, and Tobirama can imagine his surprise. These  _ nananari  _ haven’t been the Senju’s first priority by any means, but the range of claims and amount of confirmed rumors of the kunoichi assassins has brought the topic to the foreground of many discussions in this very room between them. It wouldn’t surprise Tobirama if his brother had talked to his future wife about them in private, this response meaning she hasn’t mentioned anything about them before. 

Ever the lady, Mito gracefully withdraws her teacup from her lips, settling it in her lap. “Because I’ve met them.”

“Excuse me?!” Touka shouts and Tobirama moves toward her, stifling any response she might have to cross the room and throttle the Uzumaki woman in that charming way that only his cousin can. 

But Hashirama is frowning, a terrible pouty frown that says he’s more upset about her not telling him sooner rather than murderous kunoichi lurking in the woods nearby. “When?”

Mito softens when she meets his eye. “We crossed paths on a mission. They’re quite the pair.”

It’s Tobirama’s turn to frown, thoughts running away with him as he remembers the skill levels of some of their confirmed kills. A diplomat revealed to have been enslaving his employees by means of an unagreed upon seal. A group of high level bandits tearing through a cropping of civilian lands. A Hozuki clan heir said to force himself on the women of his rival clan before their deaths. The Yamanaka who was apparently using his clan’s jutsu on members of his own clan. 

For it to have only been two of them, they were strong, busy women. 

And for Mito to have met them and kept it from the Senju, could be costly. 

“You should have reported this.” His voice bites more than he meant it to and her eyes dart to him, but she tips her head to him after a pause. 

“But they didn’t hurt you?” Hashirama asks, edging forward in his seat, his chakra swirling within him in worry that’s too melodramatic and too familiar to concern Tobirama. 

Mito smiles at him, wider than she ever smiles at anyone else. “No. They’re friendly.”

“Friendly,” Touka scoffs. “They’re loose  _ murderers for hire _ . Unaffiliated! They just-- run around! Killing whomever they like with no concern for clans or honor-”

“I think honor is exactly what they kill for,” Mito intercepts, her steel will finally rearing its head. “They’re a little too vigilante for my taste, but they have honorable intentions of righting wrongs.”

Distantly, Tobirama feels the chakra signatures of a patrol returning, plus one, and his attention splits-- gauging. The flame of chakra is recognizable, though he can’t recall a name or face, but it’s an Uchiha without a doubt. It’s also stronger than the four-Senju shinobi patrol accompanying it combined. Tobirama’s brows sink over his eyes.

“That’s all well and good, but to go around assassinating people across the countries is just  _ asking _ for--”

A knock sounds before the door cracks open and one of the gate guards pokes his head in. “Ah, uh, sorry, Hashirama-sama.”

His apology earns him a gentle wave and a gesture to continue from Tobirama’s brother, who’s still somewhat focused on Mito and her confession. 

“Dai’s unit is returning with a capture, or, well, prisoner. They surrendered.”

“They what?” Tobirama barks before he can stop himself. Since when has an Uchiha  _ ever  _ voluntarily submitted to a Senju-- let alone actually surrendered. 

“It’s a, uh, woman. Calls herself a  _ nananari _ .”

Tobirama and Hashirama meet eyes over his desk and Hashirama rises to his feet. “I want to see her. Bring her to-”

“Sorry, Hashirama-sama,” the guard cuts in. “But, uh, Dai says it's Uchiha Misaki.”

For a moment the office is still, the name ringing through the stiff atmosphere like a siren, a flare of adrenaline and they all lean on the precipice of panic and rage. 

“As in, Uchiha Madara’s sister?” Touka breathes out carefully, a steady burn in her words. “As in the same girl who disappeared along with Kitama four years ago?” 

It’s a challenge not to flinch at the sound of his sister’s name, but Tobirama manages, staring daggers into the guard and resisting the fiery need to turn his glare on Mito. 

“Ah, uh, yes. That’s her. And she says…” the man looks away for a moment and it strikes Tobirama how pale he is, how his hands tremble at his sides. “She says that Kitama will be surrendering to Madara.”

They burst out of the room and sprint to the compound gates. 

  
  
  
  


Kitama has always compared herself to her brothers. Could she be kind like Itama, strong like Hashirama, cunning like Hawarama, curious like Tobirama? The kinship she felt as a child bordered on obsessive, a bone deep yearning to belong and thrive and stand beside those she loved the most. Would she be able to spar like Hashirama? Run like Hawarama? Whip the wind around her fingers like Itama? Call rain from the sky like Tobirama? But her brothers weren’t around or alive long enough to teach her, if they would even agree to such a dubious act against their father’s orders. 

Tobirama was her saving grace. He looked after the younger children while Hashirama was taught to be the heir. Tobirama was the perfect soldier. Tobirama was the perfect older brother. Tobirama kept Hawarama quick, Itama standing on solid ground, and he taught Kitama to read and write. Hashirama lifted Kitama to his shoulders at every opportunity, touring the compound with a boisterous laugh that drew attention and camaraderie, but it was Tobirama who came to her in the night after a bad dream and whispered them away, staying until morning. 

It was Tobirama who eventually gave into teaching her more than simple academics. Alongside Tobirama she learned to weave jutsu, to summon chakra, to command the rivers’ currents and the southbound winds. He was the first to pick up on the gift of insight born into her blood, so like his own rarity of perception. 

Kitama does not have the sensor abilities of her brother. She doesn’t feel the chakra of others in presentations of waves and fires, spread across the country with an unprecedented range that strikes fear into the spines of her enemies. She can, however, sense good and evil. Like beams in the night or flickering stars on a dusky horizon, she feels the heart of those nearby, her range long past laughable even if it’s not the broad expanse that her brother can achieve. 

So when the first Uchiha patrol finally finds her, she knows. 

The four split off into pairs, preparing to surround her and she’s careful not to adjust her pace through the forest trees, the barest touches of her sandaled feet propelling her from branch to branch with slight bursts of chakra. She waits for them to come close enough for the average shinobi to sense before slowing and dropping down through the leaves. They’re far from a clearing and tall stalks of bark cut off both her vision and the Uchiha as they fall in around her, leveling her with the black, pitless eyes she’s come to know as a friend— as if such a thing could hold her in place. 

The only female in the group steps forward. “You’re on Uchiha lands.”

A pause follows and Kitama fights the urge to grin, remembering the way Misaki often cuts out statements in bitten breaths and half facts when she’s annoyed as if they’re enough for a conversation or to disguise her unease. 

“I’m aware.”

“Then you’re trespassing.” The Uchiha woman drags her eyes up and down Kitama, likely marking each of her peculiarities to memory: billowing white hair, cursed red eyes, the lack of armor or much of any covering at all, revealing the gnarled scar down her thigh --all features to flag the eye, but she’s long learned to work well without stealth. “What business do you have here?”

“Well.” Kitama brings her hands to the end of her thick tail of hair, twirling it and toying with the hidden shuriken bound inside, even when the four Uchiha tense and glare at her. “I’ve come to surrender.”

One of the men behind her scoff. 

But the woman prowls closer, curving her steps with a practiced nonchalance. “Oh? And what value could such an act have for you? Surely you know we’ll just kill you where you stand and move right along with our evening?”

This time Kitama lets her lips pull together in a puckered grin. “I think your clan head would be most displeased by such a thing considering I know where his sister is.”

They freeze, just for a breath, and then the woman is on her, a hand tight against Kitama’s throat as her heels lift off the forest floor. 

“You  _ dare _ speak ill of Uchiha Misaki-sama. I should-”

“Put her down.”

The voice is behind her, much too close, sending a hot chill spinning its way up her back and down her shoulders, but the woman releases her. The cold metal of a kunai against her throat follows, but she doesn’t bother to worry, turning her head to eye the man behind her, not much older than she is. He’s glaring at her, eyes red with the sharingan active, murder dripping off a poorly leashed grimace as he towers over her small frame. 

“You have my sister.”

It’s not a question.

“No,” she says, and her voice is surprisingly firm even as she fights the tremors in her limbs. “I don’t have her, the Senju do.”

“Lies!” the woman spits in front of her, but she doesn’t look away from the man she’s piecing together as Izuna. Kitama and Misaki spent hours going over information on each of their two remaining brothers and despite the blade against her throat, Kitama is glad to see Izuna alive-- for Misa’s sake. 

“And you think we’ll let you live for that information?” Izuna is quiet, steady, if not a little breathless with rage. 

“No.” Kitama pitches her voice a little higher, hoping to come across lazy, playful, even, though she barely makes the feat. “I think you’ll keep me alive because I am Senju Kitama.”

There’s a small gasp and an uttered expletive from the others, but Izuna’s eyes do not waver in their burning into her skull. “What is it you want?”

“ _ We  _ want peace,” she says, shifting her weight in the mud at her feet, twigs knocking against her toes as she forces herself ramrod straight. “Misa and I are offering ourselves as a means to end this for our families. Kill me and Misa will die. Misa dies and I will follow.” 

Izuna stares at her a moment longer before his kunai shakes and he pulls it away, whipping around to launch it into the spine of a tree. “ _ Misa _ ,” he growls into the forest, “you’re just as infuriating as always!” 

“She’d love to hear you say that,” Kitama chuckles, clearly unconcerned for her well being because Izuna spins and grabs her by the shoulders.

“And I would  _ love  _ to get the chance to tell her, but you’ve robbed me of that, haven’t you, Senju?” he spits at her, closing the space between them to cover her in his deepened shadow beneath the ceiling of leaves. 

She meets his stare, unflinching even in the face of the sharingan-- a skill she neither underestimates nor fears after learning the intricacies of Misaki’s own doujutsu. Clenching her teeth for half a breath, she raises her chin. “Take me to Madara.”

“If you think-” the woman starts behind her, but Izuna lifts a hand over Kitama’s shoulder, silencing her.

“Let’s go then.”


End file.
